


now the shaggers perform

by drinkingstars



Category: British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Body Image sort of, Body Worship, Camboys, Comeplay, Exhibitionism, Filthy, I really mean it, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Showing Off, Slurs, Vulgar Language, balaclavas, creepy masks, mention of breeding kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: I’d do any number of bizarre things for you. Given a chance and a long enough timeline.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Richard Madden
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	now the shaggers perform

**Author's Note:**

> *there is unusually vulgar language used in this, including some words that may be thought of as slurs.  
> *there are creepy balaclavas worn, they look [like this.](https://www.amazon.com/Botack-Balaclava-Protection-Breathable-Adjustable/dp/B07W56PH6B/ref=asc_df_B07W56PH6B/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=380225342362&hvpos=1o2&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16065527892359593919&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=m&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9031102&hvtargid=pla-813472536908&psc=1&tag=&ref=&adgrpid=79199450604&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvadid=380225342362&hvpos=1o2&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16065527892359593919&hvqmt=&hvdev=m&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9031102&hvtargid=pla-813472536908)  
> *title is from the Arctic Monkeys song [Balaclava](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LBCqG0YnTM) which you can probably guess, was suggested by [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus) and she was right to do so, it's a fuckin' banger.

“So remember you told me you’d try something a little unconventional,” Taron asks, licking his lips and guiding Richard onto his back on their broad, sumptuous bed.

Richard smiles a little nervously, curls into himself as he sinks into the memory foam. Taron tuts his tongue and pulls gently at both of Richard’s ankles, stretching his legs out into a sprawl. “Don’t hide, love. The opposite of what we’re going for,” Taron says with a wink. He pats the tops of Richard’s feet and leaves the bed to go over to the desk where his laptop and an outrageously expensive 4k webcam are set up.

Richard sits bolt up to full attention when he notices them. “What... I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ love but no _bloody_ way.”

“The cam channel runs through a VPN... make it originate from a totally random location in the world. I’ve installed a voice modulating software on the audio input processor... in case you can’t control that brogue from slippin’ out,” Taron explains, pretty proud of all he’s learned to do in the past couple of weeks with a little ingenuity and many, many YouTube tutorials.

“What are ye, a sex hacker? Sweetheart, it’s a sexy idea, don’ get me wrong, and ye’ve clearly gone to a lot of trouble, but... there’s an obvious problem.”

“Our faces on hundred foot billboards on two continents?” Taron asks, quirking his mouth in a grin.

“Yeah, that’s just for starters,” Richard begins to argue, shifting his hips forward on the bed to reach for Taron, presumably to pull him down and talk some sense into him or at least make out with him until he forgets this idea. _Not happening, nice try, Madden._

Taron just keeps the pleasant grin plastered on his face as he turns to get something out of the nearby armoire, laying two odd looking cloth items on the bed at Richard’s feet.

“Didn’t know if you’d want blue or black, so I got both,” Taron explains as Richard inches forward to investigate. “They’re for like, ice climbers, crazy... Alpine hikers or summat.”

Richard picks up the black one and touches the fabric, runs his fingers around the carefully stitched narrow opening for the eyes. Taron’s already tried it on, and it shows even less of his face than his Robin Hood mask did. “Yeah I’ve seen ‘em before. You wear them under motorcycle helmets too, for dust... wait a minute, you’re _serious_ , aren’t ye?” Richard spits a bit, placing the hood back down on the bed and looking at Taron incredulously.

Taron kneels in front of him at the foot of the bed and takes Richard’s face in his hands. “I am dead serious. You are the most gorgeous—” Taron pauses to kiss his mouth, slack in disbelief— “...most neurotic, beautiful man I know. And you love getting your kit off in front of people but you’re also wildly, irrationally insecure.”

Richard looks up heavily, pouting his mouth against Taron’s. “You’re really selling this here, my love—”

Taron takes a breath. “You can be naked and sexy and _sexualized_ in front of like, a lot of fucking people, none of whom are _me_ , who loves you so bloody much I learned how to set up a fucking VPN webcam…” Taron pauses again, swallows down a note of uncertainty and sadness for Richard. “Or like, film people. Who need something out of you. Who you can’t trust aren’t lying to you, deep down.” Richard looks up challengingly at that, but Taron levels him with a steady gaze. “I _know_. We both think it, ok?” 

Richard nods, curiously touches the edge of the balaclava again. “You’d do this for me?”

Taron pulls at Richard’s waist, slides his hands under his t-shirt and wraps himself around him. “I’d do any number of bizarre things for you. Given a chance and a long enough timeline.”

“This is pretty bizarre, love,” Richard says, picking the hood up fully and running his hands around the inside. “It is soft... nice job.”

Taron lifts his hands and arms, quick and sneaky, taking Richard’s shirt over his head with them, leaving him in his sweatpants and the odd black garment sitting in his lap. “‘Course it’s soft, you prat. It’s Mulberry silk, the finest there is... nothing but the best for that face. Slip it on?” Taron says encouragingly, gently letting go of his hands and stepping one foot down off the bed.

Richard shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s doing this. “The things I do for you…” he says, as the silky black fabric drapes down about his head. It covers his cheeks, his jaw, his streak of silver hair— his most identifying features, save his eyes. The shadow of the hooded eye opening over his brow all but obfuscates those as long as he’s not in direct light. It’s... perfect. 

Taron admires him a moment, then leans in to make one more adjustment around the eye opening, making absolutely sure. He presses a wet, breathy kiss over Richard’s mouth through the soft weave of the silk covering his face. “Not doing it for me... for _you_ , love.”

Richard leans back, settles onto his elbows, and lets out a long, steady breath. “Ok... so, what do I do then?”

Taron grins and leans over to check his framing and taps a few things on his computer. “Just uh... try not to yell my name,” he smirks as he opens the stream and connects the feed. Richard laughs, nods his masked and cloaked head.

“Will do. So you’re directing this little show, I take it?”

Taron pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and the live feed lights up on his monitor. “I don’t think you’re gonna need much direction, love...ok...go for it.”

*

Taron doesn’t know what he expected to happen to _him_ when he sat at his computer with a live webstream casting his _preposterously_ hot boyfriend jerking himself off going out into... the matrix, the ether, wherever, whatever... but he is possibly more turned on than he’s ever been in his life within the first three minutes. 

Richard, obviously, does not need much direction to get himself going. He’s generally positively _filthy_ anyway, and the anonymity makes him shameless— licking his palm messily and slicking his wet hand around his cock head, squeezing it free from his foreskin and slipping his fingers down his shaft to tickle at his balls, dipping back, lower... oh, god, Taron’s going to _die_ here. 

He’s looking between Richard on the bed, Richard on the video feed, the viewer count (18—not too shabby) and his own achingly hard cock, when a little box opens in the corner of the screen. 

_this dude hot af_

“Oh, fuck,” Taron breathes out as he clicks around a bit. There’s a chat built-in and the people watching can... type at him? Richard pauses on the upstroke of his cock and tilts his masked head toward Taron.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, voice gruff and raspy with arousal and maybe he’s trying to do some sort of affect to disguise his distinctive timbre, which is kind of adorable. Taron shakes his head and waves at him to continue, checks the box again.

“I’s fine... figurin’ it out,” he says vaguely and pushes down on his own erection, trying to ignore it for the moment and type with his other hand.

_U have no idea_

Taron types, innocently hits Enter and squirms in his chair, adjusting his hard dick again and trying to focus back on Richard.

_whos typing_

Another viewer in a different text color types almost immediately and Taron’s eyes dart up to the count again. There are now 42 people watching... he could’ve sworn it was only 29 last time he checked. Richard moans loudly behind him, and Taron swallows and scowls at the screen, pulling his attention in too many directions. 

Richard speeds up his hand on himself, and starts thrusting his hips up at shallow, regular intervals into his stroke and Taron whimpers a bit. He bites his lip and types quickly.

 _His boyfriend_ ;)

Taron turns a bit toward Richard and clears his throat, tries to keep his voice low and angled away from the microphone, even with the software (hopefully, _god_ ) running. “You look so fuckin’ hot, babe... there’s like fifty people watching you,” Taron says, gravelly, and Richard groans deep in his chest. Taron knows exactly which parts of Richard’s delicate psyche that is hitting, and how potent it is for him.

“ _Fifty_... fuck. Right, then,” he drawls a bit and gets back to it, spreads his legs a little wider and lifts his heavy balls out of the way, gets his fingertips near his hole and circles, lightly, toying with himself for any of those... 58 now, people to see. 

Taron can’t stand it anymore and wraps one hand around his cock, lightly palms his head and then circles his fingers down over the ridges, squeezes around the base to try to constrain it a bit. He moans and drops his head into his chest, strokes a few times as Richard strokes and plays with himself, then happens to glance at the chat box and sees messages have streamed in from a dozen more users.

_show us ur cock_

_cock or gtfo_

_fuck his tight hole_

_lol ghey_

_get on cam_

_GET ON CAM_

_lets see it homos_

_breed his slutty hole he wants look a him_

There are 178 people watching. This was simultaneously the best and worst idea Taron has ever had. They’re not _wrong_... on _most_ of those points. Just not a particularly eloquent bunch in this gay porncam livechat at 4pm on a Saturday. 

_r u hot like he is holy fuck_

Taron looks over at Richard at that one, and has to grip his cock, rubs his hand roughly over it a few more times. He watches Richard, his fingers pushing in around the rim of his hole, stretching his arms to try to reach, and he feels his mouth water. 

_Not like him. No one like him. ;)_

He types, a completely unnecessary heartfelt overshare for a sex chat, but he is nothing if not earnest. 

_eh he’s not all that_

_breed him slut_

_ur both ugly fist his ass idgaf_

_Give him some cock already fuckin poofs_

_get on cam_

Taron furrows his brow at how vulgar some of them are, takes a breath and finds his voice, throaty again.

“Babe... there’s like... close to two hundred. They want me to, uh, do stuff... to you,” Taron begins, squirming under his own touch as his dick starts to leak in his hand already, fuck, he’s a mess, and Richard plants his feet in the bed and stops for a second, like he’s thinking about it.

“Get, god, yeah, T—yeah get over here, fuck,” Taron inhales sharply at the near utterance of the identifiable syllable of his name, his nickname, that though it’s incredibly unlikely anyone currently trolling their little wank session here would be able to place and piece together, he’s not so horny and lust stupid that he’s ready to let all common sense go.

If he reaches with his foot he can snag the other one, the blue balaclava that Richard left at the foot of the bed, without risking his face in the shot. He slips the silky hood over his head, checks the mirror over the dresser just to be absolutely sure that he doesn’t seem recognizable. He can keep his eyes mostly hidden, too, and the cowl neck of this design even covers his mole, which is probably his most telltale feature from the face down. He blows out a puff of air and steels himself, walks through the shot and strokes his stiff, thick dick for the amusement of those in the chat before he gets down on the bed. 

Even through his dark fabric hood, he can tell when Richard smiles at him joining him. He can’t kiss him so well, but settles for dragging his fingertips across Richard’s mouth through the fabric. “You look really fuckin’ hot but like ye also might murder me,” Richard whispers, and Taron feels the moist warmth of Richard’s breath through his lips against his skin. 

He grins inside his hood, pushes his fingertips between Richard’s lips through the silk. “Uh yeah, you do too, but it’s kind of doin’ it for me?” Richard bites around his thumb, the nip and the heat through the cloth surprisingly erotic. “You wanna give ‘em a good show?” Taron asks, voice sweet as can be while wearing a sex hood and broadcasting this to literally anyone who wants to watch.

“Uh huh, thought this was all for _me_ wasn’t it,” Richard teases him a bit but Taron can tell he’s pretty much on board for whatever this is.

“Still is...always for you. Turn ‘round, and flip, yeah, tha’s good,” Taron says as Richard settles on his forearms and pushes his hips and ass up. 

Taron smooths his hands over Richard’s flanks and insanely strong thighs, then spreads Richard’s cheeks in full view of the camera. He lowers his face and presses his open lips, breathing out humid air against Richard’s hole through the fabric, which dampens and clings to Richard’s skin between them. Taron feels Richard shudder and he does it again, hot breath and kisses through the silk, then follows with his nose, nudging up and into him, brushing it over the ultrasensitive skin. 

He wants to take this stupid thing off and eat Richard’s ass until he fucking _cries_ but he knows he can’t. He rises again and slaps Richard on the ass, a few swift swats just to keep him on his toes while Taron leaves him for a moment. “Coming right back, don’t worry,” he murmurs as he moves around the room, squinting at the computer screen through his hood as he goes to the bedside table drawer for some lube. There are over 300 people watching and the chat is moving so fast he wouldn’t be able to keep up, even if he tried.

He gets the lube and a couple of toys he has banging around in that drawer, just in case, and waves them showily in the frame as he walks back around the bed. Richard’s hand is tucked under himself and he’s groaning, lifting his hips up for Taron, waiting. “Take your time then, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he mumbles and Taron can tell he’s biting his lips under there. He’s turned on but anxious, and Taron hesitates a moment at the foot of the bed, soothes his hands over Richard’s lower back.

“Do you want me to turn it off, love? This is fun, and fucking _weird_ , but we can just log off any time,” Taron reassures him, pressing his face and mouth between his cheeks again. He’s into this, for sure, especially now with... Jesus, 426 people watching, what the fuck... but he’s more into taking care of Richard and making sure this is good for him.

Richard shoves his hips back in response, fucking himself into Taron’s face. He presses up on his forearms, and _fuck_ he’s fucking strong. He cranes his head back toward Taron, talks under his breath. “How many people are on?”

Taron glances back again, just for complete, up to the minute information. “Uh...four fifty-three, my god don’t these people have lives?”

“Nooo, they don’. An’ what’re they sayin’ to ye?” Richard gasps, rolls his hips down again as he fucks his hand. Taron wants to at least give him lube for that, he muses, getting distracted.

“Ahhh, believe the term was _breed his slutty hole_ ? Is that? The vernacular?” Taron can barely stifle a laugh behind his face covering and he hears Richard choke. They’re so bad at this. They’re _great_ at fucking though. He loves them.

Richard shakes beneath him and finally settles, lays his covered face back down into his folded forearms. “Sounds like a bonny idea, crack on with it then.”

“Cool it with the Scottish,” Taron reminds carefully through gritted teeth as he smacks Richard hard on the ass and gets back down between his cheeks. His glutes and thighs are thick, so strong, ropey muscle trembling lightly with anticipation as Taron opens up the lube and slicks some onto his fingers. He starts with one, just teasing the tip around Richard’s hole, watching with fascination as it puckers and draws in the lube. 

He turns his face toward the camera and watches them both on the feed on his computer, watches the arch of Richard’s back and neck as he slowly slides that finger inside, moves it in and out a few times before curling it up toward himself and making Richard gasp. “Yeahhhh, there you go... good little slut,” Taron purrs at him, slaps his ass again with his other hand to make Richard thrust back and surprises him with a well lubed second finger all at once.

“Jesus fuck, T,” Richard says with a snarl and a bit of a laugh, barely intelligible through the mask with his face pressed into his forearms, but Taron knows his sounds. “Such the performer, aren’t we?”

“Always on the bonk,” Taron says to himself mostly, licking his lips under his hood and working his fingers in and out of Richard, getting him to fuck his hand. Taron contorts himself kind of awkwardly to bend and press his face again to Richard’s crack, groaning in frustration when he can’t get his tongue properly out to lick around his fingers where Richard is opening for him, the muscle pink and flushed and begging to be lavished. He roots around on the bed by his knees and gets his other hand around the two toys instead—one a long, conical, almost Christmas tree shaped black plug that only Richard can handle, and the other a red, bumpy, science fiction movie tentacle looking thing that Taron adores for reasons he can’t quite explain. 

He holds them up in view of the webcam one at a time, tilting his head questioningly and then pushing forward over Richard’s body to get close enough to the chat to squint as the responses roll by in a rush. He’s scared to even look at the viewer count. 

Richard’s moans at the jostling movement and at Taron’s fingers pushing way deeper than they were before, kicks his feet out a little. “Babe... fuck, what are ye’...ahhh,” he whines as Taron slips his fingers out for a moment and puts his feet on the floor. His cock is aching and he takes a moment to just drag the head of it along Richard’s ass, still open probably just barely enough and glistening with lube from his hand... he could just about stretch him the rest of the way and shove inside now, fuck the theatrics of the toys and whatever these perverts in their audience want. He plants his feet and squares off his hips, rubs the shiny head of his cock up and down a few times, listening to Richard keen and moan for it.

“You want this? Want me to just shove it in? Show how well you take it, eh?” Taron says under his breath, torturing them both with the warm drag of their sticky slick skin together. Richard isn’t making a lot of sense, just pleasurable hums as his hips shift on the bed, his toes curl under and push his hips up, displaying his hole again right where the camera can see, perfectly. Taron tilts his head again, thinking, looking lovingly at his man, ass up and desperate for _whatever_ , and makes a quick decision. “Nah... I think you need to open up... get you nice and sloppy before I fill you up, yeah,” Taron grins to himself and glances back at the screen just long enough to see the consensus.

_BIG RED_

_monster cock monster cock_

_wtf that red thing_

_breed his hole u pussy come on_

_red one then let me lick it clean_

Taron laughs behind his mask and gives a thumbs up, picks up the red thing, crawls his face down near Richard’s and presses their mouths together through the fabric of their hoods. “Love you, you look so good. Gonna fuck you so hard. Little slut. And then I’m gonna kiss your pretty face all night,” he breathes out and Richard shudders and nods in furious agreement.

“Fuckin’ do it then, ay? How many people are—” Richard starts to ask and Taron cuts him off with a shake of his head and a hard slap to the center of his ass, right over the cleft that leads down to his perfect, slutty hole.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that... just give _me_ a good show,” Taron says, slicking the toy up with plenty of lube. He makes some adjustments to Richard’s hips and legs, makes sure his thighs and ass are in optimal position for everyone, including him, to enjoy, spreads his pretty cheeks again and pushes the narrow tip of the tentacle toy right into him. 

“Always do, love.” 

Richard, of course, needs very little direction. His back arches into the pressure as his body accepts the toy, inch by inch, Taron giving it a little twist as each of the bumpy protrusions on the silicone nudge their way into him, opening him wider. Richard groans and humps back into it and Taron urges him on, filth falling from his mouth like he can’t even quite believe, “yeah, take it, greedy hole, you want that thick thing inside you, getting ready for me aren’t ya,” and Richard nods, drops his head again and heaves a breath into his chest when Taron finally bottoms it out, gets the widest part of the thing into him, the flared end resting flush against his bum. 

Richard tries again to get a hand underneath him but Taron slaps it out of the way, leans down to cover his body so the flared end of the toy rests against Taron’s thigh, letting Richard ride it while Taron reaches around and takes hold of his weeping cock. “Fuck yourself, yeah there you go, fuck my hand and thigh, dirty little slut. I love you so,” Taron trails off, watching Richard unabashedly rock himself on the toy, thrusting his cock into Taron’s grip, his shoulder and back coursing with muscles as he contracts back and forth. Richard turns his face on his arms finally, looking out desperately toward the screen and Taron follows his gaze, looks over at the vision of them, Richard’s unbelievable body working so hard for his pleasure and Taron, hard dick pushing impatiently into the space between his thighs while Richard chases down his orgasm. 

Taron feels it, knows it well when Richard gets close, and doesn’t want to waste a gorgeous come shot when he knows that’s what Richard would want from this, after all. “Gonna move you... real quick, just hang on,” Taron says, pressing his masked face down against Richard’s sweaty, straining back as he quickly shifts, jostles one hip so he can sink onto his bum on the bed and pull Richard along with him, landing with a yell between Taron’s legs as the tentacle looking toy undoubtedly hits his prostate about ten different ways. Taron just _barely_ does have time to wrap his arms back around Richard’s waist and get a hand on his cock, jerking him the last little bit over the edge as Richard comes, shouting in magnificent Scottish profanities, streaks of come shooting onto his own chest, falling onto Taron’s arm, and wherever else it lands. 

“Fuck,” Taron says, opens his mouth under his hood and buries his teeth into the back of Richard’s neck as Richard shakes his way through, his orgasm still pulsing through him and out of him, a little shiver rumbling through his chest and into Taron’s teeth. He bites, gnaws at him through the silk. “Fuck. So good, love.”

Taron has to move them again, _fast_ , has to grab himself and squeeze, he’s way too close. “Up up up,” he prods, lifts his hands carefully under Richard’s bum and helps him off his lap, turning him around again, ass to the camera. He smooths his hands over Richard’s deltoids, his lats, gets a pillow under his hips and kneads at his glutes, starting to work the toy back out of him. Richard moans at the sensation and Taron hums, soothes him as it starts to release, wondering vaguely how many people already came as hard as Richard did. He bloody can’t _wait_ to join them.

Taron pauses with the tentacle toy just partway inside him, the slightly curved tip of it hooking gently at Richard’s rim and holding him open in a way Taron just wants to admire for a moment before he fucking explodes—he assumes other people will enjoy this as well. He sets the thing aside to clean later—the sheets are well and truly fucked at this point anyway—and gets behind Richard, pulling his hips to the edge of the bed so he can push his cock right in, his hole used and relaxed, the muscle quivering gently around the head. “Fuck this is... _fuck_ …” Taron can’t even articulate but it doesn’t matter. His eyes roll back in his head and he pushes inside, just the head and crown of his cock resting inside Richard’s ass as he strokes his shaft with his fingers, Richard lax and beautiful beneath him.

“Give it to me, c’mon love,” Richard says, breathy through the fabric, and Taron grunts and gives himself a few more strokes with one hand, holding Richard’s rim open around him with the other as he feels his lower body tingle and thrum and his balls draw up tight. 

He fights closing his eyes as his orgasm rushes through him, watches as his come fills Richard up, the gleam of white against the visceral pink of his body accepting it, shooting a thrill through Taron along with the sheer pleasure of release. He comes, and watches, and remembers the other god knows how many people just watched them do this, and comes some more because _fuck_. “Oh my god... fuck, _fuck fuck fuck_ ,” he tries, but can’t really talk, catching his come with his thumb and pressing some back inside as it starts to run out, Richard purring underneath him still.

“Fucking hell... wrecked me.” Richard babbles vaguely from his pillow and Taron is still too caught up in coming, enrapt in looking at what a mess he made, what Richard let him do. He drops his head to the small of Richard’s back, both of them moaning when Taron slips two fingers easily back inside, pushing the come back in and curling it out of him, smiling like an idiot under his mask. 

He sits up, turns his own body out of the way for a minute, lets Richard’s legs and hips sink down until he’s comfortable, sprawled out. He roves his hands over the backs of his thighs, squeezes and massages his glutes some more, watching as his come runs out between Richard’s legs. He trails his hands all the way down him, from his back to his asshole to his legs and calves, one last time, and slips up off the bed.

He glances at the chat and it’s mostly just a solid wall of different emojis that could mean ejaculation, so Taron figures their work here is done. He gives another weak thumbs up to the camera lens—the thumb he just had inside Richard’s ass, you lucky perverts don’t even _deserve,_ he thinks—and closes all the windows, disconnects the camera completely and powers it off, just to be safe.

“Whoa,” he says, blankly in the now still privacy of their room, no webstream. He pulls the hood off over his head, still relatively cool and comfortable underneath, thanks to the quality silk, and goes to lie beside Richard. He lifts Richard’s head for him and carefully peels the fabric up off of him too, tosses them both onto the floor.

Richard blinks at him a little, adjusting to his face being free again, and Taron feels himself blushing, which in turn makes Richard blush and duck his face back into the pillow. “Did you breed my hole?” Richard finally asks, voice crackling with laughter and relief.

“Oh my _god_ shut up, slut,” Taron falls into bed beside him, laughing softly into his shoulder, but they’re both disgusting and can’t lay here very long. 

“Such a performance. My god, T, if the Academy had seen _that—_ ”

Taron growls and bites into his clavicle. “ _Too_ soon, Madden.”


End file.
